Free For All
by Jrf Steel
Summary: This just just a place to store my ideas until I am ready for them. But it's also a place to inspire other writers.
1. Chapter 1

**Free For All**

**Hello everyone, I would just like to inform you that this is not a new story, this is just a section where I will be storing any ideas that happen to pop into my head. As the title suggest, any writers out there that takes a liking to any idea found here, may take it upon themselves to continue where I have left off. These ideas will center mostly on Harry Potter and Naruto. With that said please enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Naruto or any other anime, movie or T.V. show I may borrow inspiration from. **

**Are you a Wizard or a Pirate?**

It has been just one night since the British Wizarding community breathed a collective sigh of relief because their living nightmare, the Dark Lord Voldemort, has finally been defeated. All over the country, witches and wizards were celebrating the fall of the darkest wizard in recent history. Fireworks, feasts and exuberant toasts could be seen and heard all over. Harry James Potter, now nick named the Boy-Who-Lived was the reason for all the celebration. By a twist of fate or just plain luck, at 15 months old he had just the night before been responsible for the defeat of Voldemort. While the majority of the Wizarding population was singing his praises, Harry was none the wiser.

Harry was currently sound asleep in the arms of Albus Dumbledore. Albus was tall, thin and very old. He had long white hair that matched his long white beard, he had light blue eyes that twinkled behind half- moon glasses, and he also had a large crooked nose that looked like it had been broken more than once. Albus was currently explaining to his Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall and his groundkeeper Rubeus Hagrid his reasons for leaving Harry Potter to be raised by his muggle relatives. While the 3 of the magical beings stood on the sidewalk in front of Number 4 Privet Dr. none of them noticed the two shadowy figures lurking across the street on the side of Number 5 Privet Dr.

These two figures have been keeping watch on the home across the street since nightfall, they saw when the old man appeared out of nowhere and extinguished all the lights on the block. They saw when the tabby cat turned into a severe looking woman and they also saw when the large fellow with the bushy black hair and beard arrived on that flying motor bike. As they watched all of this, they never once showed any sign of surprise or shock at what they witnessed these people doing. As time ticked on they kept to the shadows as the 3 people finally went their separate ways. The big guy took off on his flying bike, the severe looking woman transformed once again into a cat and walked away and the old man after setting a bundle down on the doorstep of the house across the street walked to the end of the block relit the street lamps and disappeared.

After waiting for a moment the two people detached themselves from the shadows of Number 5 and walked with extreme confidence across the street to Number for. As they got closer to the street lamps the appearances was revealed.

One figure was covered in a black cloak from shoulders to ankles, but if the silhouette was anything to go by it was a female with a slender figure and a very prominent chest. She had flowing orange hair and when she went to brush it out of her eyes a glass orb glinted off her left wrist. She had a curious expression on her face as she got closer and closer to the bundle sitting on the doorstep of Number 4.

The other figure was wearing an open black vest that showed off a six pack abs and a large X shaped scar on his chest. He was wearing black shorts that stopped just above his knees with a gold sash tied around his waist and on his feet were a simple pair of straw sandals. Beneath his straw hat was also a look of curiosity in his dark eyes.

They were both in their late 20s but had the eyes of much older people, soon they stood in front of Number 4 and the man in the straw hat immediately picked up the bundle of blankets and smiled at the cherub face of Harry Potter.

"So you're the one Madam Sharly told me about." He said quietly.

"I still can't believe you of all people would remember something as specific as to be at a certain place at a certain time." The female companion groused. "Normally if it isn't about food or a new adventure you don't want to be bothered."

The man chuckled quietly as he continued to study the face of the baby in his arms. "Still see me as that 16 year old goofy bottomless pit eh, Nami?"

The now identified Nami laughed at the question. "I admit you have your moments of maturity Luffy." Nami said, she paused as she watched her friend grab his cheek and stretched it out to the full length of his arm, and stick his tongue out to the now awake child he held. "Although, those moments of maturity are few and far between."

The now identified Luffy let go of his cheek and let it snap back into place eliciting a childish laugh from the green eyed baby in his arms. "We better go before we get any unwanted attention." Luffy said before turning and walking away from Number 4.

"Luffy, you never said why you had to be the one to raise this kid." Nami said as she walked beside him.

Luffy stopped on the side walk in front of Number 4 "Madam Sharly said that Ace's will of 'D' lives on in this little guy, and if I left him to be raised here by these people, it would be lost forever."

Nami, knowing that the death of Ace was still a sensitive subject squeezed Luffy's shoulder in companionable silence. The two walked in silence further down the street to the park. Once there, they walked to the large open grass area. As they approached mid-field an invisible voice called out.

"Cloak mode disengaged!"

Right before their eyes the air in front of them shimmered and then fell away to reveal a large boat parked directly in the center of the field. The ship was perched on mechanical legs that extended out of the belly of the ship; the legs also had built in stairs to double as an access point. As they approached the ship someone leaned over the side.

"It's about time you got back; we've been waiting here all night." A surly voice said.

Before Nami or Luffy could respond, someone else leaned over the side.

"Shut your mouth, you mossy haired bastard! Nami-chan can take all the time she wants." Another voice said.

"Nobody asked you, you shitty cook. Go away before I cut you in half."

"You want to fight, you samurai reject? I'll cave in your empty skull with one kick."

"Bring it on; at least your fighting is better than your cooking."

Luffy and Nami both ignored them both and went aboard. By the time they got on the top deck the two men that were arguing, were nose to nose, growling in each-others face.

"Cut that out you two, we have to get going. Frankie, take us home." Luffy called to the big cyborg at the wheel.

"Aye Captain! Get ready for _SUPER FLIGHT MODE!_" Frankie said striking a pose with his forearms locked above his head.

As the ship slowly rose in the air, the other members of the crew started to gather around Luffy. Before anyone could ask any questions Luffy turned the little kid around in his arms so everyone could see him. "Everyone this is our new nakama, Harry D. Potter!"

**(10 years later)**

"Abbott, Hannah"

Albus Dumbledore couldn't quite hide his anxiety as Minerva called forth the first of the new crop of witches and wizards that were going to be joining Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Looked up and down the line of nervous 11 year olds, but didn't spot the messy jet black hair of James Potter or the emerald green eyes of his wife Lily.

Albus slouched back in his seat at the head table with feelings of guilt and shame. Those same feelings he had all those years ago when he first discovered Harry Potter was never taken in by his aunt Petunia. He could recall that day with great clarity. It was not long after he asked Arabella Figg to move to Privet Dr. to keep an eye on the Potter Heir, only to find out, that there was only one child living at #4 Privet Dr. and it was not Harry Potter.

After questioning both Dursleys with a liberal use of _**Legilimency **_he discovered that they never found Harry on their doorstep, they didn't even know Lily and James were dead. That day Albus left #4 a shadow of his former self. Gone, was the ever present twinkle in his light blue eyes and in its place guilt and shame.

That was until a month ago, when Minerva stormed into his office out of breath and waving a green envelope in front of her face like it was on fire.

**(Flashback 1 month ago)**

Before Albus could get a word in she thrust it into his hand. Albus had looked at the envelope and his world stopped on its axis, the envelope was the standard stationary for the Hogwarts letters but what had Albus' eyes wide open in surprise was the name and address on the front of it.

_H. Potter_

_Cabin boy, barracks_

_The Thousand Sunny_

"Albus" Minerva said her voice barely above a whisper "this confirms, he is out there somewhere but we have a problem, none of the school owls will deliver the letter. I was seating in the Great Hall having breakfast when it was brought to me. I even took the letter to the owlery myself but none of the feathery blighters would respond to me. Albus what does that mean?"

"I'm not sure myself Minerva, the only instance where that has occurred was when the recipient was dead. But here is Harry's letter clear as day." He said holding up the evidence.

Before the two professors could toss theories back and forth between them, Fawkes, Albus' Phoenix companion flew from his perch in the corner of the Headmasters office and settled down on the desk in front of Albus. Fawkes gave a short trill and stuck out his leg out.

Albus' white eyebrows disappeared further up on his forehead as he stared at his longtime friend. Having known Fawkes for most of his adult life, Albus trusted him without question, so with a small nod at his Phoenix friend, Albus tied the letter around his outstretched leg and in a flash Fawkes was gone.

**(End Flashback)**

That was a month ago and no matter how much Albus called, Fawkes still hasn't returned yet.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Albus dragged his thoughts back to the present at the shout. Apparently Albus was son caught up in the past that he completely missed the sorting of the first years. Albus heaved a heavy sigh. _'Never thought I'd say this but, I'm getting too old for this shit.'_

Albus stood from his chair, to give his yearly welcome. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our feast, I would like to say a few words…"

Albus didn't get further than that because suddenly, in a flash of flames and startled screams, Fawkes appeared in the center of the Great hall between the Ravenclaws and Hufflfepuffs. And apparently Fawkes didn't travel alone, Albus' eyes widened as he glimpsed a pair of familiar green eyes. In another flash of fire Fawkes left the green eyed child to his business.

Minerva McGonagall was not a witch known to be flustered by much, but the sudden appearance of not only Albus' Phoenix companion, but a child as well left her temporarily speechless. At the first glimpse of those eyes she knew who the boy was, no one, besides one other person she had met had that shade of green.

The boy was dressed in dark blue slacks with white pinstripes and a matching vest over a white and a matching blue silk tie. He was also wearing a black leather jacket and a solid black fedora.

"Hi! I'm not late am I?" the boy asked with a wide grin, showing off straight white teeth.

Minerva got herself together quickly, fixing the smiling child with a stern look. "What is your name, young man?"

Smile never leaving his face, Harry took off his hat and long locks of jet black hair fell over his forehead and down the sides framing his face, he placed his hat over his heart and bowed at the waist, "Harry D. Potter, at your service madam."

All around the Great Hall, from first to seventh years, the girls were fanning themselves at the handsome 11 year olds chivalry.

"Harry Potter, my goodness, he is so cute and such a little gentleman."

"Oh my god, he's so dreamy and that suit is so darling."

Whispers of those types could be heard at every table.

Even the stern transfiguration professor's lips twitched at his courtly behavior.

"If I'm late, I do whole-heartedly apologize, I lost track of time as I was doing some last minute shopping for my school supplies. I make it a policy never to keep beautiful women waiting." Harry said sincerely.

All around the hall was a collective breathy sigh from each table.

Minerva had to stop herself from sighing along with the rest of the females gathered in the Great Hall. "Mr. Potter, would you join me at the front please?"

"Of course madam, I hear and obey." Harry strode forward without a hitch in his step as his leaving behind his school trunk, his highly polished, all black dress shoes clicked loudly against the stone floor.

"Since you missed the previous introduction I will briefly explain what is going on. This is the sorting ceremony, what that means is once you put the hat on it will determine which house suits you best. Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, each house has its own noble history and each house has produced great witches and wizards." Minerva motioned for Argus Filch to bring the stool and hat over to her. "The house you are sorted into will be your family here at Hogwarts; you will share classes and a living area. Please have a seat so that we can begin."

Harry sat down without hesitation and placed his own hat in his lap. The hat was placed on his head and fell over his eyes.

"My…my, what an interesting life you've lead thus far Mr. Potter." A small voice in Harry's ear said.

"Whoa, you can talk?" Harry whispered.

"Indeed I can, and I must say I envy you the adventures you've had thus far. I would love to talk about them when you have a chance, but because we are a bit behind schedule, we should really get you sorted."

"That's fine with me, and I'll be sure to make time to come and speak with you." Harry said.

"I would like that, now then let's have a look shall we? Yes…yes…I see growing up with your family has given you a healthy dose of all the traits the four founders favored. I see you have a great love for knowledge that would serve you well in Ravenclaw. You're cunning, but not overly ambitious, you would do well in Slytherin, but not great. Oh my, while your loyalty greatly outweighs your, cunning and love of knowledge, I see it is only reserved for those who have earned it, so Hufflepuff is out. It takes a great deal of courage to go to the places you have been without hesitation and with an open mind, I think that courage is going to serve you well in… GRYFFINDOR!"

Cheers rang out through the hall especially from the house of lions. Harry took the hat from his head and handed it back to the waiting professor. With another bow he walked to the table of lions and took a seat next to a girl with red cheeks and bushy brown hair.

It was two hours later that a red head who introduced himself as Percy was leading Harry and the rest of the first years to the Gryffindor dorms. Harry had kept up a steady conversation with his new friend Hermione all through dinner. She was a fountain of knowledge, especially about Hogwarts; Harry had learned when he asked about the enchanted ceiling. They had just gotten rid of the troublemaking poltergeist Peeves when Percy finally led them all to the entrance to the dorms.

"The password changes on a regular basis, and it could always be found on the common room bulletin board. If you forget it, you will be stuck on this side until someone can open it for you." He turned back to the portrait. "Caput Draconis" and the door swung open.

After Percy directed the girls to one side and the boys to the other, there were some half-hearted goodnights exchanged, before the two genders split up. Harry followed Hermione to the bottom of the stairs that lead to the girl's dormitory.

"It was nice meeting you Hermione; you're like my own personal Athena, who has come from the heavens to bestow knowledge upon me." Harry said as he took her hand a placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

Hermione was completely tongue tied as Harry caressed her hand with his lips. She didn't even recall walking up the stairs to her room, if anyone asked her roommates Lavender and Parvati they would swear she floated into the room and into to bed.

Harry stayed at the bottom of the stairs until Hermione disappeared from his sight, then he turned on his heels and went to his own dorm with one last thought. _'I wonder what color her panties were.'_

**AN: Well that's that. As you can see, Harry is a smoother version of Sanji and with a dash of Brooks thrown in. Remember these stories are free for anyone to continue or you can make your own version. If anyone does decide to write their own story, drop me a line and let me know. Bye for now.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Free For All**

**AN: Here's another idea that was just taking up space in my head.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.**

**Sarutobi's Sacrifice**

"I'm dying Minato." Kushina said simply as she held her newborn son close to her chest.

"I know, but we can still save Naruto and the village." Minato replied just as calmly as he stroked his wife's hair.

"I know what you're thinking. I never wanted that life for Naruto and if you're going to use _that_ jutsu, then he's going to be all alone. You can't do that to him." Kushina said desperately.

"He won't be alone; he will still have his mother. I'll seal Kyuubi's yin into you and the yang into Naruto." Minato ran his fingers through his son's scruffy blonde hair and smiled down on him sadly with tears rolling down his cheeks. "You'll have to prepare him, that man in the mask hasn't given up, he is still out there."

"Minato?" she said with a trembling voice.

Minato smiled at his wife. "It's my right as a husband and a father to give my life for the two of you." He leaned down and kissed his son on the forehead and then he kissed his wife one last time and infused all the love he felt for in to it.

Minato reluctantly broke the kiss and stood. He took one last look at his family and then turned away to face the still rampaging bijuu. He was about to go through the hand seals for the summoning jutsu when his world went black.

"Jiji!" Kushina yelped in surprise when the third Hokage came out of nowhere and knocked Minato unconscious with a chop to the neck.

"You damn noble fool." Sarutobi said as he looked down at the blonde Hokage. He turned to look at the new mother and her son with a bright smile. "When he wakes up, tell him he shouldn't be so quick to throw his life away. I know what he planned to do. I'll do it instead."

Kushina was speechless as she looked upon the Hokage. Even as a man of over 60 years of age, he was standing tall, unbent by age and with a calm determination that would not be swayed. Kushina looked at the "God of Shinobi" the "Professor" and for the first time in all her years of knowing the man she fully understood how he truly deserved each title.

"Thank you… Jiji." Kushina said.

Hiruzen continued to smile down on the red head. "No need to thank me Kushina-chan, this is the act of a selfish old man. My children are adults and now that Biwako is gone, I've suddenly realized how tired I am. Tell my children, I'm sorry to leave them, and that I wished I could have met my grandchildren."

Kushina was now openly crying and could only give him a trembling nod.

Hiruzen walked away without a backwards glance. He strode forward without a hesitant step towards his assured death with one thought in mind. _'One old man loses his life in place of a young husband and father…fair exchange.'_

**(12 years later)**

"NARUTO! GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE AND TAKE YOUR LUMPS LIKE A MAN!"

Minato cringed behind his desk as the windows in his office rattled at the roar that was definitely heard throughout the village. The blonde Hokage shook his head in exasperation as he turned around to see his son run across the roof tops away from an enraged Inoichi Yamanaka.

"I'M SORRY INOICHI-SAMA, I TRIPPED. IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!" Naruto pleaded as he hauled ass away from the irate mind specialist.

"NO ONE TRIPS AND KISSES MY PRINCESS!" Inoichi yelled, not letting up from his chase.

Minato was about to turn away and get back to his paper work when he got a glimpse of something that had a sweat dropping forming on his head. It was Ino, Inoichis daughter and one of Naruto's classmates.

"DADDY, DON'T YOU DARE LAY A HAND ON MY NARUTO-KUN!" Ino screamed after the two blondes.

Minato turned his back on the scene, this wasn't the first time Naruto was chased through the village by an irate father and it most likely wasn't going to be the last time. _'I should have never left Naruto alone with Jiraiya so often.'_

_(Knock-knock)_

"Come!" Minato barked at the closed door.

A warm smile spread across Minato's face when his wife entered. She was wearing a forest green kimono with a white obi around her waist, she also wore black shinobi sandals and her hair as always was flowing all the way down to the back of her knees.

"Kushina-chan" Minato said warmly as he approached his wife with open arms. He should have known something was wrong when her smile seemed a little too sweet, but he paid it no attention. The next thing he knew, he was face first on his office floor with a lump growing in the center of his head.

"W..why?" he asked weakly.

"Because it was your idea to let Jiraiya babysit Naruto whenever he was in town." She said irately. Kushina marched over to the window and gestured angrily at Naruto, Inoichi and Ino, hopping from roof to roof still screaming at each other. "Look at what that pervert has done to my darling Naru-chan; he turned him into a playboy dattebane!"

Minato picked himself up off the floor and cautiously approached his wife. "It's just a phase; he'll grow out of it."

Kushina spun around and glared at her husband so hard, he actually backed up a couple of steps. "He better grow out of it or you're on the couch for life."

The blonde Hokage paled at the threat. "There's no need for that kind of language Kushina-chan. Besides, this isn't that big a …", Minato trailed off as his hot tempered wife narrowed her eyes at him.

"Hiashi, still has standing orders for Naruto to be captured and brought to him after he caught Naruto and Hinata playing Doctor, and that was two years ago."

Minato couldn't keep the grimace off his face as he remembered that incident. He had to assign Kakashi as a bodyguard for Naruto for six months following that uproar.

Minato was brought back to the present when he heard Kushina let out a heavy sigh.

"Naruto's playboy antics aside, that wasn't the reason I came here. You said you would take a look at the seal, how is it?" She asked.

"The seal is fine, I checked it this morning." Minato said as he wrapped his wife in a hug "There's no degradation and the portion of the seal that purifies the Kyuubis chakra is working perfectly."

Kushina looked up into the cerulean blues eyes that matched her sons perfectly. "Tomorrow's the big day; do you think he's ready?"

Minato smiled down at his wife. "If he can survive irate fathers, who also happen to be seasoned war vets, I think he's more than ready."

**(With Naruto)**

'_Can't a guy make out with a cute girl without being threatened with brain damage?'_ Naruto thought crossly as he sped away from Inos father who was currently frothing at the mouth.

'_And my day was going so well to'_ Ever since Naruto woke up that morning things seemed to be going his way. He got up earlier than usual to spend some time in the family dojo and after six months of training, he finally perfected the **Dancing Shadow Leaf Jutsu** but instead of pile driving his opponent, he added his own variation at the end.

Even his day at the academy didn't seem like such a chore. Most of the morning was spent reviewing for the graduation exam but after lunch it was do whatever you want until class ended. So Naruto took full advantage of his free time and talked Ino into taking a walk with him to a less populated area of the academy grounds, where he proceeded to flirt with Ino until her face turned into a cherry. Naruto then coaxed a few small kisses out of the Yamanaka heir, we had just started our make out session when we were interrupted by a shout of surprise mixed with fury. Naruto turned and paled when he saw Inoichi Yamanaka, standing about 30 feet away from him. Not even attempting to come up with an excuse the Namikaze heir started running as fast as his legs would carry him and he hasn't slowed down since.

Eventually Naruto dropped from the roof tops and down into the streets hoping to lose the incensed torture specialist in the crowded market place. He ducked in and out of stalls and restaurants before ending up at the mouth of an alley the smelled of rotten fish and urine.

"At it again eh Naruto?" an unexpected voice said right next to him.

Naruto barely stifled a girlish shriek as he snapped his head to the right and focused his attention on a shinobi leaning nonchalantly against the building next to him. He had silver gravity defying hair and one visible eye the other being covered with his shinobi headband. Naruto visibly relaxed and smiled brightly. "Ero-Kakashi, you got to help me, Ino's dad is going to turn my brain into oatmeal."

"That seems fitting Ero-Naruto, it's already going around the village that he caught you smooching his daughter." Kakashi said with an eye smile.

"I was merely expressing my…admiration for her beauty."

"Obviously Inoichi wasn't too keen on the way you expressed it."

"I don't have time to debate are you going to help me or not?" Naruto demanded.

"What's in it for me?" Kakashi asked as he dug into his hip pouch and pulled out a very familiar orange book.

Naruto sighed heavily at Kakashi's not too subtle hint. "Fine, if you help me, I'll give you my autographed copy of Jiraiyas special edition Icha-Icha he gave me for my birthday."

"Deal" Kakashi said before grabbing Naruto by the back of his shirt and tossing him in the street.

Naruto landed with a thump in the middle of the street as the people in the market place looked on in curiosity. He sat up gingerly and glare at the silver haired jonin.

"Don't forget our deal; I expect delivery no later than tomorrow." Kakashi said as he started walking away.

"No deal, you didn't help me escape." Naruto said belligerently.

"The deal wasn't for me to help you escape it was for me to help you, which I did." Kakashi said and kept on walking.

"How exactly did you help me?"

"Troublesome…I missed." Was the lazy drawl from the darkness of the alley Naruto had just recently taken refuge, out of the shadow of the alley walked Shikaku Nara.

Naruto looked at the Nara clan head in confusion. "Wait a minute, I know for sure I never kissed Shikamaru, so what's your problem?"

Shikaku lazily scratched his cheek as he looked at Naruto. "You troublesome blonde, this has nothing to do with Shikamaru. No matter how troublesome it might be, as one of Inos god-fathers, I'm sort of obligated to be here."

"O..o..One of her god-fathers? Is it safe to assume, her other god-father, is capable of growing to the size of the Hokage Tower?"

"The Hokage Tower?" a congenial voice rang out behind Shikaku "I've grown as big as the Hokage Monument before." Choza Akimichi said as he came to a stop next to his lifelong teammate.

"I've gotcha now!"

Naruto turned to his left to see Inoichi pushing his way through the stunned crowd of people who stopped in the middle of their day to watch the spectacle taking place. Thinking quickly Naruto reached into his hip pouch and pulled a few smoke bombs and through them at his feet.

"Shikaku, stop him before he gets away!" Inoichi yelled desperately.

Shikaku didn't have to be told, his **Shadow Possession Jutsu **was already on its way when the young Namikaze reached into his hip pouch. He sent his shadow tendrils into the smoke screen and instantly felt them connect. "**Shadow Possession Jutsu** success."

Inoichi smirk evilly into the smoke even as he raised his hands to form his own unique seals for his clan jutsu.

"What are you going to do to him?" Choza asked his blonde friend.

"I haven't completely decided yet, but some ideas that have been running through my head involve tar, feathers, a rubber chicken and a camera." Inoichis evil chuckling was abruptly cut off as the smoke cleared and a dazed and confused Kiba Inuzuka was discovered.

"What the hell is going on, how did I get here?"

"Sorry Inoichi, he must have used the replacement jutsu just before my shadow could grab him."

Inoichi let out a howl of frustration "I vow on this day that Naruto Namikaze will pay for kissing my princess!"

"Daddy would you knock it off, you're embarrassing me! It was just a kiss." Ino said as she scowled at her father.

"But you're too young." Inoichi whimpered.

Ino shook her head as her father pouted in the middle of the street and complained about the hardships of raising a daughter.

From the back of the crowd Naruto mentally apologized to Kiba for dragging him into his mess, but since he saw Kiba laughing his ass off at Naruto's expense, he figured he could pay Kiba back and escape, all in one go. Naruto finally walked away when Inoichi declared his vengeance.

'_Well, that's another father declaring vengeance, and the day started off so well.'_

**AN: There was nothing special I had in mind for this fic other than Naruto growing up with his parents and being better prepared for life as a shinobi. I made him something of a playboy just for shits and giggles. I know I didn't mention it but everyone knows Naruto's a jinchurikki, when the Yellow Flash and the Red Death tells you to treat their son like a hero, what else are you going to do?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Free for All**

**Disclaimer: Naruto and Percy Jackson are the property of Masashi Kishimoto and Rick Riordan respectively.**

**Summary: Okay, you've all read this sort of story where the Olympian Gods are aware of the Elemental Nations and some even vacation there. In my version, Naruto, is the son of the big guy him-self…Zeus. Welcome all to Prince of the Sky.**

**Prince of the Sky**

**(AN: The story starts at the cabin in Montauk just so there is no confusion.)**

That night I had a vivid dream.

It was storming on the beach, and two beautiful animals, a white horse and a golden eagle, were trying to kill each other at the edge of the surf. The eagle swooped down and slashed the horse's muzzle with its huge talons. The horse reared up and kicked at the eagles wings. As they fought, the ground rumbled, and a monstrous voice chuckled somewhere beneath the earth, goading the animals to fight harder.

I ran toward them, knowing I had to stop them from killing each other, but I was running in slow motion.

I knew I would be too late. I saw the eagle dive down, its beak aimed at the horse's wide eyes, and I screamed, No!

I woke with a start.

Outside, it really was storming; the kind of storm that cracks trees and blows down houses. There was no horse or eagle on the beach, just lightning making false daylight, and twenty-foot waves pounding the dunes like artillery.

With the next thunderclap, my mom woke. She sat up, eyes wide, and said, "Hurricane."

I knew that was crazy. Long Island never sees hurricanes this early in the summer. But the ocean seemed to have forgotten. Over the roar of the wind, I heard a distant bellow, an angry, tortured sound that made my hair stand on end.

Then I heard a much closer noise, like mallets in the sand. A desperate voice—someone yelling, pounding on our cabin door.

My mother sprang out of bed in her nightgown and threw open the lock.

Grover stood framed in the doorway against a backdrop of pouring rain. But he wasn't... he wasn't exactly Grover.

"Searching all night," he gasped. "What were you thinking?"

My mother looked at me in terror—not scared of Grover, but of why he'd come.

"Percy," she said, shouting to be heard over the rain. "What happened at school? What didn't you tell me?"

I was frozen, looking at Grover. I couldn't understand what I was seeing.

"O Zeu kai alloi theoi!" he yelled. "It's right behind me! Didn't you tell her?"

I was too shocked to register that he'd just cursed in Ancient Greek, and I'd understood him perfectly. I was too shocked to wonder how Grover had gotten here by himself in the middle of the night. Because Grover didn't have his pants on—and where his legs should be ... where his legs should be ...

My mom looked at me sternly and talked in a tone she'd never used before: "Percy. Tell me now!"

I stammered something about the old ladies at the fruit stand, and Mrs. Dodds, and my mom stared at me, her face deathly pale in the flashes of lightning.

She grabbed her purse, tossed me my rain jacket, and said, "Get to the car, both of you go!"

Grover ran for the Camaro—but he wasn't running, exactly. He was trotting, shaking his shaggy hindquarters, and suddenly his story about a muscular disorder in his legs made sense to me. I understood how he could run so fast and still limp when he walked.

Because where his feet should be, there were no feet. There were cloven hooves.

We tore through the night along dark country roads. Wind slammed against the Camaro. Rain lashed the wind-shield. I didn't know how my mom could see anything, but she kept her foot on the gas.

Every time there was a flash of lightning, I looked at Grover sitting next to me in the backseat and I wondered if I'd gone insane, or if he was wearing some kind of shag-carpet pants. But, no, the smell was one I remembered from kindergarten field trips to the petting zoo— lanolin, like from wool. It was the smell of a wet barnyard animal.

All I could think to say was, "So, you and my mom... know each other?"

Graver's eyes flitted to the rearview mirror, though there were no cars behind us. "Not exactly," he said. "I mean, we've never met in person. But she knew I was watching you."

"Watching me?"

"I've been keeping tabs on you. Making sure you were okay. But I wasn't faking being your friend," he added hastily. "I am your friend."

"Urn ... what are you, exactly?"

"That doesn't matter right now."

"It doesn't matter? From the waist down, my best friend is a donkey—"

Grover let out a sharp, throaty "Blaa-ha-ha!"

I'd heard him make that sound before, but I'd always assumed it was a nervous laugh. Now I realized it was more of an irritated bleat.

"Goat!" he cried.

"What?"

"I'm a goat from the waist down."

"You just said it didn't matter."

"Blaa-ha-ha! There are satyrs who would trample you under hoof for such an insult!"

"Whoa. Wait. Satyrs. You mean like ... Mr. Brunner's myths?"

"Were those old ladies at the fruit-stand a myth, Percy? Was Mrs. Dodds a myth?"

"So you admit there was a Mrs. Dodds!"

"Of course."

"Then why—"

"The less you knew, the fewer monsters you'd attract," Grover said, like that should be perfectly obvious. "We put Mist over the humans' eyes. We hoped you'd think the Kindly One was a hallucination. But it was no good. You started to realize who you are."

"Who I—wait a minute, what do you mean?"

The weird bellowing noise rose up again somewhere behind us, closer than before. Whatever was chasing us was still on our trail.

"Percy," my mom said, "there's too much to explain and not enough time. We have to get you to safety."

"Safety from what? Who's after me?"

"Oh, nobody much," Grover said, obviously still miffed about the donkey comment. "Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his blood-thirstiest minions."

"Grover!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Jackson, Could you drive faster, please?"

I tried to wrap my mind around what was happening, but I couldn't do it. I knew this wasn't a dream. I had no imagination. I could never dream up something this weird.

My mom made a hard left. We swerved onto a narrower road, racing past darkened farmhouses and wooded hills and PICK YOUR OWN STRAWBERRIES signs on white picket fences.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"The summer camp I told you about." My mother's voice was tight; she was trying for my sake not to be scared. "The place your father wanted to send you."

"The place you didn't want me to go."

"Please, dear," my mother begged. "This is hard enough. Try to understand. You're in danger."

"Because some old ladies cut yarn."

"Those weren't old ladies," Grover said. "Those were the Fates. Do you know what it means—the fact they appeared in front of you? They only do that when you're about to ... when someone's about to die."

"Whoa. You said 'you.'"

"No I didn't. I said 'someone.'"

"You meant 'you,' as in me."

"I meant you, like 'someone.' Not you, you. "

"Boys!" my mom said.

She pulled the wheel hard to the right, and I got a glimpse of a figure she'd swerved to avoid—a dark fluttering shape now lost behind us in the storm.

"What was that?" I asked.

"We're almost there," my mother said, ignoring my question. "Another mile. Please. Please. Please."

I didn't know where _there_ was, but I found myself leaning forward in the car, anticipating, wanting us to arrive.

Outside, nothing but rain and darkness—the kind of empty countryside you get way out on the tip of Long Island. I thought about Mrs. Dodds and the moment when she'd changed into the thing with pointed teeth and leathery wings. My limbs went numb from delayed shock. She really hadn't been human.

She'd meant to kill me.

Then I thought about Mr. Brunner ... and the sword he had thrown me. Before I could ask Grover about that, the hair rose on the back of my neck. There was a blinding flash, a jaw-rattling boom! and our car exploded.

I remember feeling weightless, like I was being crushed, fried, and hosed down all at the same time. I peeled my forehead off the back of the driver's seat and said, "Ow."

"Percy!" my mom shouted.

"I'm okay... ."

I tried to shake off the daze. I wasn't dead. The car hadn't really exploded. We'd swerved into a ditch. Our driver's-side doors were wedged in the mud. The roof had cracked open like an eggshell and rain was pouring in.

Lightning, that was the only explanation. We'd been blasted right off the road. Next to me in the backseat was a big motionless lump. "Grover!"

He was slumped over, blood trickling from the side of his mouth. I shook his furry hip, thinking, _'NO'_ Even if you are half barnyard animal, you're my best friend and I don't want you to die!

Then he groaned "Food," and I knew there was hope.

"Percy," my mother said, "we have to ..." Her voice faltered.

I looked back. In a flash of lightning, through the mud-spattered rear windshield, I saw a figure lumbering toward us on the shoulder of the road. The sight of it made my skin crawl. It was a dark silhouette of a huge guy, like a football player. He seemed to be holding a blanket over his head. His top half was bulky and fuzzy. His upraised hands made it look like he had horns.

I swallowed hard. "Who is—"

"Percy," my mother said, deadly serious. "Get out of the car."

My mother threw herself against the driver's-side door. It was jammed shut in the mud. I tried mine, stuck too, I looked up desperately at the hole in the roof. It might've been an exit, but the edges were sizzling and smoking.

"Climb out the passenger's side!" my mother told me. "Percy—you have to run. Do you see that big tree?"

"What?"

Another flash of lightning, and through the smoking hole in the roof I saw the tree she meant: a huge, White House Christmas tree-sized pine at the crest of the nearest hill.

"That's the property line," my mom said. "Get over that hill and you'll see a big farmhouse down in the valley. Run and don't look back. Yell for help. Don't stop until you reach the door."

"Mom, you're coming too."

Her face was pale, her eyes as sad as when she looked at the ocean.

"No!" I shouted. "You are coming with me. Help me carry Grover."

"Food!" Grover moaned, a little louder.

The man with the blanket on his head kept coming toward us, making his grunting, snorting noises. As he got closer, I realized he couldn't be holding a blanket over his head, because his hands—huge meaty hands—were swinging at his sides. There was no blanket. Meaning the bulky, fuzzy mass that was too big to be his head ... was his head. And the points that looked like horns ...

"He doesn't want us," my mother told me. "He wants you. Besides, I can't cross the property line."

"But..."

"We don't have time, Percy. Go. Please."

I got mad, then—mad at my mother, at Grover the goat, at the thing with horns that was lumbering toward us slowly and deliberately like, like a bull.

I climbed across Grover and pushed the door open into the rain. "We're going together. Come on, Mom."

"I told you—"

"Mom! I am not leaving you. Help me with Grover."

I didn't wait for her answer. I scrambled outside, dragging Grover from the car. He was surprisingly light, but I couldn't have carried him very far if my mom hadn't come to my aid.

Together, we draped Grover's arms over our shoulders and started stumbling uphill through wet waist-high grass.

Glancing back, I got my first clear look at the monster. He was seven feet tall, easy, his arms and legs like something from the cover of Muscle Man magazine—bulging biceps and triceps and a bunch of other 'ceps, all stuffed like baseballs under vein-webbed skin. He wore no clothes except under-wear—I mean, bright white Fruit of the Looms—which would've looked funny, except that the top half of his body was so scary. Coarse brown hair started at about his belly button and got thicker as it reached his shoulders.

His neck was a mass of muscle and fur leading up to his enormous head, which had a snout as long as my arm, snotty nostrils with a gleaming brass ring, cruel black eyes, and horns—enormous black-and-white horns with points you just couldn't get from an electric sharpener.

I recognized the monster, all right. He had been in one of the first stories Mr. Brunner told us. But he couldn't be real. I blinked the rain out of my eyes. "That's—"

"Pasiphae's son," my mother said. "I wish I'd known how badly they want to kill you."

"But he's the Min—"

"Don't say his name," she warned. "Names have power."

The pine tree was still way too far—a hundred yards uphill at least.

I glanced behind me again.

The bull-man hunched over our car, looking in the windows—or not looking, exactly. More like snuffling, nuzzling. I wasn't sure why he bothered, since we were only about fifty feet away.

"Food?" Grover moaned.

"Shhh," I told him. "Mom, what's he doing? Doesn't he see us?"

"His sight and hearing are terrible," she said. "He goes by smell. But he'll figure out where we are soon enough."

As if on cue, the bull-man bellowed in rage. He picked up Gabe's Camaro by the torn roof, the chassis creaking and groaning. He raised the car over his head and threw it down the road. It slammed into the wet asphalt and skidded in a shower of sparks for about half a mile before coming to a stop. The gas tank exploded.

Not a scratch, I remembered Gabe saying.

Oops.

"Percy," my mom said. "When he sees us, he'll charge. Wait until the last second, then jump out of the way— directly sideways. He can't change directions very well once he's charging. Do you understand?"

"How do you know all this?"

"I've been worried about an attack for a long time. I should have expected this. I was selfish, keeping you near me."

"Keeping me near you? But—"

Another bellow of rage, and the bull-man started tromping uphill.

He'd smelled us.

The pine tree was only a few more yards, but the hill was getting steeper and slicker, and Grover wasn't getting any lighter.

The bull-man closed in. Another few seconds and he'd be on top of us.

My mother must've been exhausted, but she shouldered Grover. "Go, Percy! Separate! Remember what I said."

I didn't want to split up, but I had the feeling she was right—it was our only chance. I sprinted to the left, turned, and saw the creature bearing down on me. His black eyes glowed with hate. He reeked like rotten meat.

He lowered his head and charged, those razor-sharp horns aimed straight at my chest.

The fear in my stomach made me want to bolt, but that wouldn't work. I could never outrun this thing. So I held my ground, and at the last moment, I jumped to the side.

The bull-man stormed past like a freight train, then bellowed with frustration and turned, but not toward me this time, toward my mother, who was setting Grover down in the grass.

We'd reached the crest of the hill. Down the other side I could see a valley, just as my mother had said and the lights of a farmhouse glowing yellow through the rain. But that was half a mile away. We'd never make it.

The bull-man grunted, pawing the ground. He kept eyeing my mother, who was now retreating slowly downhill, back toward the road, trying to lead the monster away from Grover.

"Run, Percy!" she told me. "I can't go any farther. Run!"

But I just stood there, frozen in fear, as the monster charged her. She tried to sidestep, as she'd told me to do, but the monster had learned his lesson. His hand shot out and grabbed her by the neck as she tried to get away. He lifted her as she struggled, kicking and pummeling the air.

"Mom!"

She caught my eyes, managed to choke out one last word: "Go!"

Then, with an angry roar, the monster closed his fists around my mother's neck, and she dissolved before my eyes, melting into light, a shimmering golden form, as if she were a holographic projection. A blinding flash and she was simply ... gone.

"No!"

Anger replaced my fear. Newfound strength burned in my limbs—the same rush of energy I'd gotten when Mrs. Dodds grew talons.

The bull-man bore down on Grover, who lay helpless in the grass. The monster hunched over, snuffling my best friend, as if he were about to lift Grover up and make him dissolve too.

I couldn't allow that.

I stripped off my red rain jacket.

"Hey!" I screamed, waving the jacket, running to one side of the monster. "Hey, stupid! Ground beef!"

"Raaaarrrrr!" The monster turned toward me, shaking his meaty fists.

I had an idea—a stupid idea, but better than no idea at all. I put my back to the big pine tree and waved my red jacket in front of the bull-man, thinking I'd jump out of the way at the last moment.

But it didn't happen like that.

The bull-man charged too fast, his arms out to grab me whichever way I tried to dodge.

Time slowed down.

My legs tensed. I couldn't jump sideways, so I leaped straight up, kicking off from the creature's head, using it as a springboard, turning in midair, and landing on his neck.

How did I do that? I didn't have time to figure it out. A millisecond later, the monster's head slammed into the tree and the impact nearly knocked my teeth out.

The bull-man staggered around, trying to shake me. I locked my arms around his horns to keep from being thrown. Thunder and lightning were still going strong. The rain was in my eyes. The smell of rotten meat burned my nostrils.

The monster shook him-self around and bucked like a rodeo bull. He should have just backed up into the tree and smashed me flat, but I was starting to realize that this thing had only one gear: forward.

Meanwhile, Grover started groaning in the grass. I wanted to yell at him to shut up, but the way I was getting tossed around, if I opened my mouth I'd bite my own tongue off.

"Food!" Grover moaned.

The bull-man wheeled toward him, pawed the ground again, and got ready to charge. I thought about how he had squeezed the life out of my mother, made her disappear in a flash of light, and rage filled me like high-octane fuel. I got both hands around one horn and I pulled backward with all my might. The monster tensed, gave a surprised grunt, then—snap!

The bull-man screamed and flung me through the air. I landed flat on my back in the grass. My head smacked against a rock. When I sat up, my vision was blurry, but I had a horn in my hands, a ragged bone weapon the size of a knife.

The monster charged.

Without thinking, I rolled to one side and came up kneeling. As the monster barreled past, I drove the broken horn straight into his side, right up under his furry rib cage.

The bull-man roared in agony. He flailed, clawing at his chest, then began to disintegrate—not like my mother, in a flash of golden light, but like crumbling sand, blown away in chunks by the wind, the same way Mrs. Dodds had burst apart.

The monster was gone.

The rain had stopped. The storm still rumbled, but only in the distance. I smelled like livestock and my knees were shaking. My head felt like it was splitting open. I was weak and scared and trembling with grief I'd just seen my mother vanish. I wanted to lie down and cry, but there was Grover, needing my help, so I managed to haul him up and stagger down into the valley, toward the lights of the farm-house. I was crying, calling for my mother, but I held on to Grover—I wasn't going to let him go.

The last thing I remember is collapsing on a wooden porch, looking up at a ceiling fan circling above me. Moths flying around a yellow light, and the stern faces of a familiar-looking bearded man and a pretty girl, her blond hair curled like a princess's. They both looked down at me, and the girl said, "He's the one. He must be."

"Silence, Annabeth," the man said. "He's still conscious. Bring him inside."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XX**

I had weird dreams full of barnyard animals. Most of them wanted to kill me. The rest wanted food. I must've woken up several times, but what I heard and saw made no sense, so I just passed out again. I remember lying in a soft bed, being spoon-fed something that tasted like buttered popcorn, only it was pudding. The girl with curly blond hair hovered over me, smirking as she scraped drips off my chin with the spoon.

When she saw my eyes open, she asked, "What will happen at the summer solstice?"

I managed to croak, "What?"

She looked around; as if afraid someone would over-hear. "What's going on? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!"

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, "I don't..."

Somebody knocked on the door, and the girl quickly filled my mouth with pudding.

The next time I woke up, the girl was gone.

A husky blond dude, like a surfer, stood in the corner of the bedroom keeping watch over me. He had blue eyes— at least a dozen of them—on his cheeks, his forehead, the backs of his hands.

When I finally came around for good, there was nothing weird about my surroundings, except that they were nicer than I was used to. I was sitting in a deck chair on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in the distance. The breeze smelled like strawberries. There was a blanket over my legs, a pillow behind my neck. All that was great, but my mouth felt like a scorpion had been using it for a nest.

My tongue was dry and nasty and every one of my teeth hurt. On the table next to me was a tall drink. It looked like iced apple juice, with a green straw and a paper parasol stuck through a maraschino cherry.

My hand was so weak I almost dropped the glass once I got my fingers around it.

"Careful," a familiar voice said.

Grover was leaning against the porch railing, looking like he hadn't slept in a week. Under one arm, he cradled a shoe box. He was wearing blue jeans, Converse hi-tops and a bright orange T-shirt that said CAMP HALF-BLOOD. It was just plain old Grover, not the goat boy.

So maybe I'd had a nightmare. Maybe my mom was okay. We were still on vacation, and we'd stopped here at this big house for some reason. And ...

"You saved my life," Grover said. "I... well, the least I could do ... I went back to the hill. I thought you might want this."

Reverently, he placed the shoe box in my lap.

Inside was a black-and-white bull's horn, the base jagged from being broken off, the tip splattered with dried blood. It hadn't been a nightmare.

"The Minotaur," I said.

"Urn, Percy, it isn't a good idea—"

"That's what they call him in the Greek myths, isn't it?" I demanded. "The Minotaur, half man, half bull."

Grover shifted uncomfortably. "You've been out for two days. How much do you remember?"

"My mom, Is she really ..."

He looked down.

I stared across the meadow. There were groves of trees, a winding stream, acres of strawberries spread out under the blue sky. The valley was surrounded by rolling hills, and the tallest one, directly in front of us, was the one with the huge pine tree on top. Even that looked beautiful in the sunlight.

My mother was gone. The whole world should be black and cold. Nothing should look beautiful.

"I'm sorry," Grover sniffled. "I'm a failure. I'm—I'm the worst satyr in the world."

He moaned, stomping his foot so hard it came off. I mean, the Converse hi-top came off. The inside was filled with Styrofoam, except for a hoof-shaped hole.

"Oh, Styx!" he mumbled.

Thunder rolled across the clear sky.

As he struggled to get his hoof back in the fake foot, I thought, 'Well, that settles it.'

Grover was a satyr. I was ready to bet that if I shaved his curly brown hair, I'd find tiny horns on his head. But I was too miserable to care that satyrs existed, or even Minotaurs. All that meant was my mom really had been squeezed into nothingness, dissolved into yellow light.

I was alone. An orphan, I would have to live with ... Smelly Gabe? No. That would never happen. I would live on the streets first. I would pretend I was seventeen and join the army. I'd do something.

Grover was still sniffling. The poor kid—poor goat, satyr, whatever—looked as if he expected to be hit.

I said, "It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was. I was supposed to protect you."

"Did my mother ask you to protect me?"

"No. But that's my job. I'm a keeper, At least... I was."

"But why ..." I suddenly felt dizzy, my vision swimming.

"Don't strain your-self," Grover said. "Here," he helped me hold my glass and put the straw to my lips.

I recoiled at the taste, because I was expecting apple juice. It wasn't that at all. It was chocolate-chip cookies. Liquid cookies, and not just any cookies— it was my mom's homemade blue chocolate-chip cookies, buttery and hot, with the chips still melting. Drinking it, my whole body felt warm and good, full of energy.

My grief didn't go away, but I felt as if my mom had just brushed her hand against my cheek, given me a cookie the way she used to when I was small, and told me everything was going to be okay.

Before I knew it, I'd drained the glass. I stared into it, sure I'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted.

"Was it good?" Grover asked.

I nodded.

"What did it taste like?" He sounded so wistful, I felt guilty.

"Sorry," I said. "I should've let you taste."

His eyes got wide. "No! That's not what I meant. I just... wondered."

"Chocolate-chip cookies," I said. "My mom's, home-made."

He sighed. "And how do you feel?"

"Like I could throw Nancy Bobofit a hundred yards, easy."

"That's good," he said. "That's good. I don't think you could risk drinking any more of that stuff"

"What do you mean?"

He took the empty glass from me gingerly, as if it were dynamite, and set it back on the table. "Come on, Chiron and Mr. D are waiting."

The porch wrapped all the way around the farmhouse.

My legs felt wobbly, trying to walk that far. Grover offered to carry the Minotaur horn, but I held on to it. I'd paid for that souvenir the hard way. I wasn't going to let it go.

As we came around the opposite end of the house, I caught my breath.

We must've been on the north shore of Long Island, because on this side of the house, the valley marched all the way up to the water, which glittered about a mile in the distance. Between here and there,

I simply couldn't process everything I was seeing. The landscape was dotted with buildings that looked like ancient Greek architecture—an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena—except that they all looked brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school-age kids and satyrs played volleyball. Canoes glided across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts like Grover's were chasing each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods.

Some shot targets at an archery range. Others rode horses down a wooded trail, and, unless I was hallucinating, some of their horses had wings.

Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a card table. The blond-haired girl who'd spoon-fed me popcorn-flavored pudding was leaning on the porch rail next to them. There was also a third guy sitting at the table as well, he was probably 15 or 16, he had bright blonde hair, a narrow face, his eyes were hidden behind a very expensive pair of sunglasses that Percy recognized, because his uber-rich former classmates at Yancy were always showing off the new trends.

The man facing me was small, but porky. He had a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it was almost purple. He looked like those paintings of baby angels— what do you call them, hubbubs?

No, cherubs. That's it. He looked like a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park. He wore a tiger-pattern Hawaiian shirt, and he would've fit right in at one of Gabe's poker parties, except I got the feeling this guy could've out-gambled even my step-father.

"That's Mr. D," Grover murmured to me. "He's the camp director, be polite. The girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than just about anybody. The blonde dude is Naruto; he's been top camper for the last two years. And I believe you know Chiron."

He pointed at the guy whose back was to me.

First, I realized he was sitting in the wheelchair. Then I recognized the tweed jacket, the thinning brown hair, the scraggly beard. "Mr. Brunner!" I cried.

The Latin teacher turned and smiled at me. His eyes had that mischievous glint they sometimes got in class when he pulled a pop quiz and made all the multiple choice answers B.

"Ah, good, Percy," he said. "Now we have four for pinochle."

He offered me a chair to the right of Mr. D, who looked at me with bloodshot eyes and heaved a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don't expect me to be glad to see you."

"Uh, thanks." I scooted a little farther away from him because, if there was one thing I had learned from living with Gabe, it was how to tell when an adult has been hitting the happy juice. If Mr. D was a stranger to alcohol, I was a satyr.

"Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner called to the blond girl.

She came forward and Mr. Brunner introduced us. "This young lady nursed you back to health, Percy. Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Percy's bunk? We'll be putting him in cabin eleven for now."

Annabeth said, "Sure, Chiron."

She was probably my age, maybe a couple of inches taller, and a whole lot more athletic looking. With her deep tan and her curly blond hair, she was almost exactly what I thought a stereotypical California girl would look like, except her eyes ruined the image. They were startling gray, like storm clouds; pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she were analyzing the best way to take me down in a fight.

She glanced at the Minotaur horn in my hands, then back at me. I imagined she was going to say, 'You killed a minotaur!' or 'Wow, you're so awesome!' or something like that.

Instead she said, "You drool when you sleep."

Then she sprinted off down the lawn, her blond hair flying behind her.

A deep throated chuckled had me spinning around in my chair to eye the blonde across from me, he was smirking at me like he knew I had just had my bubble burst by Annabeth little quip.

"Percy, this Naruto, he's a camper here as well, if you ever need anything, I'm sure Naruto wouldn't mind helping out, right Naruto?"

"Sure, Chiron, we're all family here right?" Naruto said to Chiron but never took his shaded eyes away from Percy. Even though Percy couldn't see them, he could feel the weight of the blondes gaze settle over him like a wet blanket, it was taking a just about all of my will power not to start trembling like a kicked puppy.

"So," I said, anxious to change the subject and desperate to get those eyes of me. "You, uh, work here, Mr. Brunner?"

"Not Mr. Brunner," the ex—Mr. Brunner said. "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron."

"Okay." Totally confused, I looked at the director. "And Mr. D ... does that stand for something?"

Mr. D stopped shuffling the cards. He looked at me like I'd just belched loudly. "Young man, names are powerful things. You don't just go around using them for no reason."

"Oh, right. Sorry."

"I must say, Percy," Chiron-Brunner broke in, "I'm glad to see you alive. It's been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate to think I've wasted my time."

"House call?

"My year at Yancy Academy was to instruct you. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping a lookout. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met you. He sensed you were something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to ... ah, take a leave of absence."

I tried to remember the beginning of the school year. It seemed like so long ago, but I did have a fuzzy memory of there being another Latin teacher my first week at Yancy. Then, without explanation, he had disappeared and Mr. Brunner had taken the class.

"You came to Yancy just to teach me?" I asked.

Chiron nodded. "Honestly, I wasn't sure about you at first. We contacted your mother, to let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood. But you still had so much to learn. Nevertheless, you made it here alive, and that's always the first test."

"Look," Mr. D said impatiently, "are we playing or not? You do know how to play pinochle?" Mr. D eyed me suspiciously.

"I'm afraid not," I said.

"I'm afraid not, sir," he said.

"Sir," I repeated, I'm liking the camp director less and less.

"Well," he told me, "it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilized young men to know the rules."

"I prefer a thinking game my-self, shogi, or chess. Cards are entirely too easy for me, very boring after a while." The blonde, Naruto said in a dull voice. He stood up abruptly, "Grover, why don't you take my chair? Give these guys a fighting chance."

"Yes sir!" Grover said and practically tripped over him-self to take the offered seat.

"No need to sir me Grover. If you gentleman, don't need me, I think I'll wander for a while." He said and left without another word or a backwards glance.

"What is this place? What am I doing here? Mr. Brun—Chiron—why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach me?"

Mr. D snorted. "I asked the same question."

The camp director dealt the cards. Grover flinched every time one landed in his pile.

Chiron smiled at me sympathetically, the way he used to in Latin class, as if to let me know that no matter what my average was, I was his star student. He expected me to have the right answer.

"Percy," he said. "Did your mother tell you nothing?'

"She said ..." I remembered her sad eyes, looking out over the sea. "She told me she was afraid to send me here, even though my father had wanted her to. She said that once I was here, I probably couldn't leave. She wanted to keep me close to her."

"Typical," Mr. D said. "That's how they usually get killed. Young man, are you bidding or not?"

"What?" I asked.

He explained, impatiently, how you bid in pinochle, and so I did.

"I'm afraid there's too much to tell," Chiron said. "I'm afraid our usual orientation film won't be sufficient."

"Orientation film?" I asked.

"No," Chiron decided. "Well, Percy. You know your friend Grover is a satyr. You know"—he pointed to the horn in the shoe box—"that you have killed the Minotaur. No small feat, either, lad. What you may not know is that great powers are at work in your life. Gods—the forces you call the Greek gods—are very much alive."

I stared at the others around the table.

I waited for somebody to yell, "Not!" But all I got was Mr. D yelling, "Oh, a royal marriage. Trick! Trick!"

He cackled as he tallied up his points.

"Mr. D," Grover asked timidly, "if you're not going to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?"

"Eh? Oh, all right."

Grover bit a huge shard out of the empty aluminum can and chewed it mournfully.

"Wait," I told Chiron. "You're telling me there's such a thing as God."

"Well, now," Chiron said. "God—capital G, God. That's a different matter altogether. We shan't deal with the metaphysical."

"Metaphysical? But you were just talking about—"

"Ah, gods, plural, as in, great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavors: the immortal gods of Olympus. That's a smaller matter."

"Smaller?"

"Yes, quite. The gods we discussed in Latin class."

"Zeus," I said. "Hera, Apollo, you mean them?"

And there it was again—distant thunder on a cloud-less day.

"Young man," said Mr. D, "I would really be less casual about throwing those names around, if I were you."

"But they're stories," I said. "They're—myths, to explain lightning and the seasons and stuff. They're what people believed before there was science."

"Science!" Mr. D scoffed. "And tell me, Perseus Jackson"—I flinched when he said my real name, which I never told anybody—"what will people think of your 'science' two thousand years from now?" Mr. D continued. "Hmm? They will call it primitive mumbo jumbo. That's what. Oh, I love mortals—they have absolutely no sense of perspective. They think they've come so-o-o far, and have they, Chiron? Look at this boy and tell me."

I didn't like Mr. D much, but there was something about the way he called me mortal, as if... he wasn't. It was enough to put a lump in my throat, to suggest why Grover was dutifully minding his cards, chewing his soda can, and keeping his mouth shut.

"Percy," Chiron said, "you may choose to believe or not, but the fact is that immortal means immortal. Can you imagine that for a moment, never dying? Never fading? Existing, just as you are, for all time?"

I was about to answer, off the top of my head, that it sounded like a pretty good deal, but the tone of Chiron's voice made me hesitate.

"You mean, whether people believed in you or not," I said.

"Exactly," Chiron agreed. "If you were a god, how would you like being called a myth, an old story to explain lightning? What if I told you, Perseus Jackson, that some-day people would call you a myth, just created to explain how little boys can get over losing their mothers?"

My heart pounded. He was trying to make me angry for some reason, but I wasn't going to let him. I said, "I wouldn't like it. But I don't believe in gods."

"Oh, you'd better," Mr. D murmured. "Before one of them incinerates you."

Grover said, "P-please, sir. He's just lost his mother. He's in shock."

"A lucky thing, too," Mr. D grumbled, playing a card. "Bad enough I'm confined to this miserable job, working with boys who don't even believe."

He waved his hand and a goblet appeared on the table, as if the sunlight had bent, momentarily, and woven the air into glass. The goblet filled itself with red wine.

My jaw dropped, but Chiron hardly looked up.

"Mr. D," he warned, "your restrictions."

Mr. D looked at the wine and feigned surprise.

"Dear me." He looked at the sky and yelled, "Old habits! Sorry!"

More thunder.

Mr. D waved his hand again, and the wineglass changed into a fresh can of Diet Coke. He sighed unhappily, popped the top of the soda, and went back to his card game.

Chiron winked at me. "Mr. D offended his father a while back, took a fancy to a wood nymph that had been declared off-limits."

"A wood nymph," I repeated, still staring at the Diet Coke can like it was from outer space.

"Yes," Mr. D confessed. "Father loves to punish me, the first time, Prohibition. Ghastly! Absolutely horrid ten years! The second time—well, she really was pretty, and I couldn't stay away—the second time, he sent me here; Half-Blood Hill, summer camp for brats like you. 'Be a better influence,' he told me. 'Work with youths rather than tearing them down, absolutely unfair." Mr. D sounded about six years old, like a pouting little kid.

"And ..." I stammered, "your father is ..."

"Di immortales, Chiron," Mr. D said. "I thought you taught this boy the basics. My father is Zeus, of course."

I ran through D names from Greek mythology. Wine, the skin of a tiger, the satyrs that all seemed to work here. The way Grover cringed, as if Mr. D were his master.

"You're Dionysus," I said. "The god of wine."

Mr. D rolled his eyes. "What do they say, these days, Grover? Do the children say, 'Well, duh!?"

"Y-yes, Mr. D."

"Then, well, duh! Percy Jackson. Did you think I was Aphrodite, perhaps?"

"You're a god."

"Yes, child."

"A god? You?"

He turned to look at me straight on, and I saw a kind of purplish fire in his eyes, a hint that this whiny, plump little man was only showing me the tiniest bit of his true nature. I saw visions of grape vines choking unbelievers to death, drunken warriors insane with battle lust, sailors screaming as their hands turned to flippers, their faces elongating into dolphin snouts. I knew that if I pushed him, Mr. D would show me worse things. He would plant a disease in my brain that would leave me wearing a strait-jacket in a rubber room for the rest of my life.

"Would you like to test me, child?" he said quietly.

"No. No, sir."

The fire died a little. He turned back to his card game. "I believe I win."

"Not quite, Mr. D," Chiron said. He set down a straight, tallied the points, and said, "The game goes to me."

I thought Mr. D was going to vaporize Chiron right out of his wheelchair, but he just sighed through his nose, as if he were used to being beaten by the Latin teacher. He got up, and Grover rose, too.

"I'm tired," Mr. D said. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment."

Grover's face beaded with sweat. "Y-yes, sir."

Mr. D turned to me. "Cabin eleven, Percy Jackson. And mind your manners."

He swept into the farmhouse, Grover following miser-ably.

"Will Grover be okay?" I asked Chiron.

Chiron nodded, though he looked a bit troubled. "Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been ... ah, grounded, I guess you would say, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus."

"Mount Olympus," I said. "You're telling me there really is a palace there?"

"Well now, there's Mount Olympus in Greece. And then there's the home of the gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways, but the palace moves, Percy, just as the gods do."

"You mean the Greek gods are here? Like... in America?"

"Well, certainly, the gods move with the heart of the West."

"The what?"

"Come now, Percy. What you call 'Western civilization.' Do you think it's just an abstract concept? No, it's a living force, a collective consciousness that has burned bright for thousands of years. The gods are part of it. You might even say they are the source of it, or at least, they are tied so tightly to it that they couldn't possibly fade, not unless all of Western civilization was obliterated. The fire started in Greece. Then, as you well know—or as I hope you know, since you passed my course—the heart of the first moved to Rome, and so did the gods. Oh, different names, perhaps—Jupiter for Zeus, Venus for Aphrodite, and so on—but the same forces, the same gods."

"And then they died."

"Died? No, did the West die? The gods simply moved, to Germany, to France, to Spain, for a while. Wherever the flame was brightest, the gods were there. They spent several centuries in England. All you need to do is look at the architecture. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for the last three thousand years, you can see them in paintings, in statues, on the most important buildings. And yes, Percy, of course they are now in your United States. Look at your symbol, the eagle of Zeus. Look at the statue of Prometheus in Rockefeller Center, the Greek facades of your government buildings in Washington. I defy you to find any American city where the Olympians are not prominently displayed in multiple places. Like it or not—and believe me, plenty of people weren't very fond of Rome, either—America is now the heart of the flame. It is the great power of the West. And so Olympus is here. And we are here."

It was all too much, especially the fact that I seemed to be included in Chiron's we, as if I were part of some club.

"Who are you, Chiron? Who ... who am I?"

Chiron smiled. He shifted his weight as if he was going to get up out of his wheelchair, but I knew that was impossible. He was paralyzed from the waist down.

"Who are you?" he mused. "Well, that's the question we all want answered, isn't it? But for now, we should get you a bunk in cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate."

And then he did rise from his wheelchair. But there was something odd about the way he did it. His blanket fell away from his legs, but the legs didn't move. His waist kept getting longer, rising above his belt. At first, I thought he was wearing very long, white velvet underwear, but as he kept rising out of the chair, taller than any man, I realized that the velvet underwear wasn't underwear; it was the front of an animal, muscle and sinew under coarse white fur. And the wheelchair wasn't a chair. It was some kind of container, an enormous box on wheels, and it must've been magic, because there's no way it could've held all of him. A leg came out, long and knobby-kneed, with a huge polished hoof. Then another front leg, then hindquarters, and then the box, was empty, nothing but a metal shell with a couple of fake human legs attached.

I stared at the horse that had just sprung from the wheelchair: a huge white stallion. But where its neck should be was the upper body of my Latin teacher, smoothly grafted to the horse's trunk.

"What a relief," the centaur said. "I'd been cooped up in there so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, Percy Jackson. Let's meet the other campers."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XX**

Once I got over the fact that my Latin teacher was a horse, we had a nice tour, though I was careful not to walk behind him. I'd done pooper-scooper patrol in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade a few times, and, I'm sorry, I did not trust Chiron's back end the way I trusted his front.

We passed the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudged each other. One pointed to the Minotaur horn I was carrying.

Another said, "That's him."

Most of the campers were older than me. Their satyr friends were bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. I wasn't normally shy, but the way they stared at me made me uncomfortable. I felt like they were expecting me to do a flip or something.

I looked back at the farmhouse. It was a lot bigger than I'd realized—four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. I was checking out the brass eagle weather vane on top when something caught my eye, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and I got the distinct impression I was being watched.

"What's up there?" I asked Chiron.

He looked where I was pointing, and his smile faded. "Just the attic."

"Somebody lives there?"

"No," he said with finality. "Not a single living thing."

I got the feeling he was being truthful. But I was also sure something had moved that curtain.

"Come along, Percy," Chiron said, his lighthearted tone now a little forced. "Lots to see."

We walked through the strawberry fields, where campers were picking bushels of berries while a satyr played a tune on a reed pipe.

Chiron told me the camp grew a nice crop for export to New York restaurants and Mount Olympus. "It pays our expenses," he explained. "And the strawberries take almost no effort."

He said Mr. D had this effect on fruit-bearing plants: they just went crazy when he was around. It worked best with wine grapes, but Mr. D was restricted from growing those, so they grew strawberries instead.

I watched the satyr playing his pipe. His music was causing lines of bugs to leave the strawberry patch in every direction, like refugees fleeing a fire. I wondered if Grover could work that kind of magic with music. I wondered if he was still inside the farmhouse, getting chewed out by Mr. D.

"Grover won't get in too much trouble, will he?" I asked Chiron. "I mean ... he was a good protector, really."

Chiron sighed. He shed his tweed jacket and draped it over his horses back like a saddle. "Grover has big dreams, Percy. Perhaps, dreams that are bigger than reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper and bringing him safely to Half-Blood Hill."

"But he did that!"

"I might agree with you," Chiron said. "But it is not my place to judge. Dionysus and the Council of Cloven Elders must decide. I'm afraid they might not see this assignment as a success. After all, Grover lost you in New York. Then there's the unfortunate ... ah ... fate of your mother. And the fact that Grover was unconscious when you dragged him over the property line. The council might question whether this shows any courage on Grover's part."

I wanted to protest. None of what happened was Grover's fault. I also felt really, really guilty. If I hadn't given Grover the slip at the bus station, he might not have gotten in trouble.

"He'll get a second chance, won't he?"

Chiron winced. "I'm afraid that was Grover's second chance, Percy. The council was not anxious to give him another, either, after what happened the first time, five years ago. Olympus knows, I advised him to wait longer before trying again. He's still so small for his age... ."

"How old is he?"

"Oh, twenty-eight."

"What! And he's in sixth grade?"

"Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, Percy. Grover has been the equivalent of a middle school student for the past six years."

"That's horrible."

"Quite," Chiron agreed. "At any rate, Grover is a late bloomer, even by satyr standards, and not yet very accomplished at woodland magic. Alas, he was anxious to pursue his dream. Perhaps now he will find some other career... ."

"That's not fair," I said. "What happened the first time? Was it really so bad?"

Chiron looked away quickly. "Let's move along, shall we?"

But I wasn't quite ready to let the subject drop. Something had occurred to me when Chiron talked about my mother's fate, as if he were intentionally avoiding the word death. The beginnings of an idea—a tiny, hopeful fire—started forming in my mind.

"Chiron," I said. "If the gods and Olympus and all that are real ..."

"Yes, child?"

"Does that mean the Underworld is real, too?"

Chiron's expression darkened.

"Yes, child." He paused, as if choosing his words care-fully. "There is a place where spirits go after death. But for now ... until we know more ... I would urge you to put that out of your mind."

"What do you mean, 'until we know more'?"

"Come, Percy. Let's see the woods."

As we got closer, I realized how huge the forest was. It took up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick, you could imagine nobody had been in there since the Native Americans.

Chiron said, "The woods are stocked, if you care to try your luck, but go armed."

"Stocked with what?" I asked. "Armed with what?"

"You'll see, capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own sword and shield?"

"My own—?"

"No," Chiron said. "I don't suppose you do. I think a size five will do. I'll visit the armory later."

I wanted to ask what kind of summer camp had an armory, but there was too much else to think about, so the tour continued. We saw the archery range, the canoeing lake, the stables (which Chiron didn't seem to like very much), the javelin range, the sing-along amphitheater, and the arena where Chiron said they held sword and spear fights.

"Sword and spear fights?" I asked.

"Cabin challenges and all that," he explained. "Not lethal…usually. Oh, yes, and there's the mess hall."

Chiron pointed to an outdoor pavilion framed in white Grecian columns on a hill overlooking the sea.

There were a dozen stone picnic tables. No roof. No walls.

"What do you do when it rains?" I asked.

Chiron looked at me as if I'd gone a little weird. "We still have to eat, don't we?" I decided to drop the subject.

Finally, he showed me the cabins. There were twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They were arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on either side. And they were without doubt the most bizarre collection of buildings I'd ever seen.

Except for the fact that each had a large brass number above the door (odds on the left side, evens on the right), they looked absolutely nothing alike. Number nine had smokestacks, like a tiny factory.

Number four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seemed to be made of solid gold, which gleamed so much in the sunlight it was almost impossible to look at. They all faced a commons area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops (which were more my speed).

In the center of the field was a huge stone-lined fire pit. Even though it was a warm afternoon, the hearth smoldered. A girl about nine years old was tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick.

The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, looked like his-and-hers mausoleums, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin one was the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmered like a hologram, so that from different angles lightning bolts seemed to streak across them.

Cabin two was more graceful somehow, with slimmer columns garlanded with pomegranates and flowers. The walls were carved with images of peacocks.

"Zeus and Hera?" I guessed.

"Correct," Chiron said.

"Their cabins look empty."

"Several of the cabins are empty, that's true. No one ever stays in one or two."

Okay. So each cabin had a different god, like a mascot. Twelve cabins for the twelve Olympians. But why would some be empty?

I stopped in front of the first cabin on the left, cabin three.

It wasn't high and mighty like cabin one, but long and low and solid. The outer walls were of rough gray stone studded with pieces of seashell and coral, as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the bottom of the ocean floor. I peeked inside the open doorway and Chiron said, "Oh, I wouldn't do that!"

Before he could pull me back, I caught the salty scent of the interior, like the wind on the shore at Montauk. The interior walls glowed like abalone. There were six empty bunk beds with silk sheets turned down. But there was no sign anyone had ever slept there. The place felt so sad and lonely, I was glad when Chiron put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Come along, Percy."

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers.

Number five was bright red—a real nasty paint job, as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed wild boar's head hung over the doorway, and its eyes seemed to follow me. Inside I could see a bunch of mean-looking kids, girls and boys, arm wrestling and arguing with each other while rock music blared. The loudest was a girl maybe thirteen or fourteen. She wore a size XXXL CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroed in on me and gave me an evil sneer. She reminded me of Nancy Bobofit, though the camper girl was much bigger and tougher looking, and her hair was long and stringy, and brown instead of red.

I kept walking, trying to stay clear of Chiron's hooves. "We haven't seen any other centaurs," I observed.

"No," said Chiron sadly. "My kinsmen are a wild and barbaric folk, I'm afraid. You might encounter them in the wilderness, or at major sporting events. But you won't see any here."

"You said your name was Chiron. Are you really ..."

He smiled down at me. "The Chiron from the stories? Trainer of Hercules and all that? Yes, Percy, I am."

"But, shouldn't you be dead?"

Chiron paused, as if the question intrigued him. "I honestly don't know about should be. The truth is I can't be dead. You see, eons ago the gods granted my wish. I could continue the work I loved. I could be a teacher of heroes as long as humanity needed me. I gained much from that wish ... and I gave up much. But I'm still here, so I can only assume I'm still needed."

I thought about being a teacher for three thousand years. It wouldn't have made my Top Ten Things to Wish For list.

"Doesn't it ever get boring?"

"No, no," he said. "Horribly depressing, at times, but never boring."

"Why depressing?"

Chiron seemed to turn hard of hearing again.

"Oh, look," he said. "Annabeth is waiting for us."

The blond girl I'd met at the Big House was reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, number eleven.

When we reached her, she looked me over critically, like she was still thinking about how much I drooled.

I tried to see what she was reading, but I couldn't make out the title. I thought my dyslexia was acting up. Then I realized the title wasn't even English. The letters looked Greek to me. I mean, literally Greek.

There were pictures of temples and statues and different kinds of columns, like those in an architecture book.

"Annabeth," Chiron said, "I have masters' archery class at noon. Would you take Percy from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin eleven," Chiron told me, gesturing toward the doorway. "Make yourself at home."

Out of all the cabins, eleven looked the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on old. The threshold was worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway was one of those doctor's symbols, a winged pole with two snakes wrapped around it. What did they call it...? A caduceus?

Inside, it was packed with people, both boys and girls, way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags were spread all over on the floor. It looked like a gym where the Red Cross had set up an evacuation center.

Chiron didn't go in; the door was too low for him. But when the campers saw him they all stood and bowed respectfully.

"Well, then," Chiron said. "Good luck, Percy. I'll see you at dinner."

He galloped away toward the archery range.

I stood in the doorway, looking at the kids. They weren't bowing anymore. They were staring at me, sizing me up. I knew this routine. I'd gone through it at enough schools.

"Well?" Annabeth prompted. "Go on."

So naturally I tripped coming in the door and made a total fool of myself. There were some snickers from the campers, but none of them said anything.

Annabeth announced, "Percy Jackson, meet cabin eleven.

"Regular or undetermined?" somebody asked.

I didn't know what to say, but Annabeth said, "Undetermined."

Everybody groaned.

A guy who was a little older than the rest came forward. "Now, now, campers, that's what we're here for. Welcome, Percy, you can have that spot on the floor, right over there."

The guy was about nineteen, and he looked pretty cool. He was tall and muscular, with short-cropped sandy hair and a friendly smile. He wore an orange tank top, cutoffs, sandals, and a leather necklace with five different-colored clay beads. The only thing unsettling about his appearance was a thick white scar that ran from just beneath his right eye to his jaw, like an old knife slash.

"This is Luke," Annabeth said, and her voice sounded different somehow. I glanced over and could've sworn she was blushing. She saw me looking, and her expression hardened again. "He's your counselor for now."

"For now?" I asked.

"You're undetermined," Luke explained patiently. "They don't know what cabin to put you in, so you're here. Cabin eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers."

I looked at the tiny section of floor they'd given me. I had nothing to put there to mark it as my own, no luggage, no clothes, and no sleeping bag. Just the Minotaur's horn, I thought about setting that down, but then I remembered that Hermes was also the god of thieves.

I looked around at the campers' faces, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some eyeing me as if they were waiting for a chance to pick my pockets.

"How long will I be here?" I asked.

"Good question," Luke said. "Until you're determined."

"How long will that take?"

The campers all laughed.

"Come on," Annabeth told me. "I'll show you the volleyball court."

"I've already seen it."

"Come on." She grabbed my wrist and dragged me outside. I could hear the kids of cabin eleven laughing behind me.

When we were a few feet away, Annabeth said, "Jackson, you have to do better than that."

"What?"

She rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath, "I can't believe I thought you were the one."

"What's your problem?" I was getting angry now. "All I know is, I kill some bull guy—"

"Don't talk like that!" Annabeth told me. "You know how many kids at this camp wish they'd had your chance?"

"What chance would that be? The chance to have their internal organs feng shuied by a mythological creature, a chance to watch your best friend almost be trampled to death or about a chance to watch their only parent be crushed into dust and not being able to do a damn thing about it?" By the end of my mini rant I was foaming at the mouth with a rage I had no outlet for. I shook my head. "Look, if the thing I fought really was the Minotaur, the same one in the stories ..."

"Yes."

"Then there's only one."

"Yes."

"And he died, like, a gajillion years ago, right? Theseus killed him in the labyrinth. So ..."

"Monsters don't die, Percy. They can be killed. But they don't die."

"Oh, thanks. That clears it up."

"They don't have souls, like you and me. You can dispel them for a while, maybe even for a whole lifetime if you're lucky. But they are primal forces. Chiron calls them archetypes. Eventually, they re-form."

I thought about Mrs. Dodds. "You mean if I killed one, accidentally, with a sword—"

"The Fur ... I mean, your math teacher. That's right, she's still out there. You just made her very, very mad."

"How did you know about Mrs. Dodds?"

"You talk in your sleep."

"You almost called her something. A Fury? They're Hades' torturers, right?"

Annabeth glanced nervously at the ground, as if she expected it to open up and swallow her. "You shouldn't call them by name, even here. We call them the Kindly Ones, if we have to speak of them at all."

"Look, is there anything we can say without it thundering?" I sounded whiny, even to myself, but right then I didn't care. "Why do I have to stay in cabin eleven, anyway? Why is everybody so crowded together? There are plenty of empty bunks right over there."

I pointed to the first few cabins, and Annabeth turned pale. "You don't just choose a cabin, Percy. It depends on who your parents are. Or ... your parent."

She stared at me, waiting for me to get it.

"My mom is Sally Jackson," I said. "She works at the candy store in Grand Central Station. At least, she used to."

"I'm sorry about your mom, Percy. But that's not what I mean. I'm talking about your other parent your dad."

"He's dead, I never knew him."

Annabeth sighed; clearly, she'd had this conversation before with other kids. "Your father's not dead, Percy."

"How can you say that? You know him?"

"No, of course not."

"Then how can you say—"

"Because I know you, you wouldn't be here if you weren't one of us."

"You don't know anything about me."

"No?" She raised an eyebrow. "I bet you moved around from school to school. I bet you were kicked out of a lot of them."

"How—"

"Diagnosed with dyslexia, probably ADHD, too."

I tried to swallow my embarrassment. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Taken together, it's almost a sure sign. The letters float off the page when you read, right? That's because your mind is hardwired for ancient Greek. And the ADHD—you're impulsive, can't sit still in the classroom. That's your battle-field reflexes. In a real fight, they'd keep you alive. As for the attention problems, that's because you see too much, Percy, not too little. Your senses are better than a regular mortal's. Of course the teachers want you medicated. Most of them are monsters. They don't want you seeing them for what they are."

"You sound like ... you went through the same thing?"

"Most of the kids here did. If you weren't like us, you couldn't have survived the Minotaur, much less the ambrosia and nectar."

"Ambrosia and nectar."

"The food and drink we were giving you to make you better. That stuff would've killed a normal kid. It would've turned your blood to fire and your bones to sand and you'd be dead. Face it, you're a half-blood."

A half-blood, I was reeling with so many questions I didn't know where to start.

Then a husky voice yelled, "Well, a newbie!"

I looked over; the big girl from the ugly red cabin was sauntering toward us. She had three other girls behind her, all big and ugly and mean looking like her, all wearing camo jackets.

"Clarisse," Annabeth sighed. "Why don't you go polish your spear or something?"

"Sure, Miss Princess," the big girl said. "So I can run you through with it Friday night."

''Erre es korakas!" Annabeth said, which I somehow under-stood was Greek for 'Go to the crows!' though I had a feeling it was a worse curse than it sounded. "You don't stand a chance."

"We'll pulverize you," Clarisse said, but her eye twitched. Perhaps she wasn't sure she could follow through on the threat. She turned toward me. "Who's this little runt?"

"Percy Jackson," Annabeth said, "meet Clarisse, Daughter of Ares."

I blinked. "Like ... the war god?"

Clarisse sneered. "You got a problem with that?"

"No," I said, recovering my wits. "It explains the bad smell."

Clarisse growled. "We got an initiation ceremony for newbies, Prissy."

"Percy."

"Whatever. Come on, I'll show you."

"Clarisse—" Annabeth tried to say.

"Stay out of it, wise girl."

Annabeth looked pained, but she did stay out of it, and I didn't really want her help. I was the new kid. I had to earn my own rep.

I handed Annabeth my Minotaur horn and got ready to fight, but before I knew it, Clarisse had me by the neck and was dragging me toward a cinder-block building that I knew immediately was the bathroom.

I was kicking and punching. I'd been in plenty of fights before, but this big girl Clarisse had hands like iron. She dragged me into the girls' bathroom. There was a line of toilets on one side and a line of shower stalls down the other. It smelled just like any public bathroom, and I was thinking—as much as I could think with Clarisse ripping my hair out—that if this place belonged to the gods, they should've been able to afford classier johns.

Clarisse's friends were all laughing, and I was trying to find the strength I'd used to fight the Minotaur, but it just wasn't there.

"Like he's 'Big Three' material," Clarisse said as she pushed me toward one of the toilets. "Yeah, right. Minotaur probably fell over laughing, he was so stupid looking."

Her friends snickered.

Annabeth stood in the corner, watching through her fingers.

Clarisse bent me over on my knees and started pushing my head toward the toilet bowl. It reeked like rusted pipes and, well, like what goes into toilets. I strained to keep my head up. I was looking at the scummy water, thinking, I will not go into that. I won't.

Then something happened. I felt a tug in the pit of my stomach. I heard the plumbing rumble, the pipes shudder. Clarisse's grip on my hair loosened. Water shot out of the toilet, making an arc straight over my head, and the next thing I knew, I was sprawled on the bathroom tiles with Clarisse screaming behind me.

I turned just as water blasted out of the toilet again, hitting Clarisse straight in the face so hard it pushed her down onto her butt. The water stayed on her like the spray from a fire hose, pushing her backward into a shower stall.

She struggled, gasping, and her friends started coming toward her. But then the other toilets exploded, too, and six more streams of toilet water blasted them back. The showers acted up, too, and together all the fixtures sprayed the camouflage girls right out of the bathroom, spinning them around like pieces of garbage being washed away.

As soon as they were out the door, I felt the tug in my gut lessen, and the water shut off as quickly as it had started.

The entire bathroom was flooded. Annabeth hadn't been spared. She was dripping wet, but she hadn't been pushed out the door. She was standing in exactly the same place, staring at me in shock.

I looked down and realized I was sitting in the only dry spot in the whole room. There was a circle of dry floor around me. I didn't have one drop of water on my clothes. Nothing.

I stood up, my legs shaky.

Annabeth said, "How did you ..."

"I don't know."

We walked to the door. Outside, Clarisse and her friends were sprawled in the mud, and a bunch of other campers had gathered around to gawk. Clarisse's hair was flattened across her face. Her camouflage jacket was sopping and she smelled like sewage. She gave me a look of absolute hatred.

"You are dead, new boy. You are totally dead."

I probably should have let it go, but I said, "You want to gargle with toilet water again, Clarisse? Close your mouth."

Clarisse gave an animalistic growl and surged to her feet, her friends were about to hold her back when everyone froze at a calm baritone voice.

"Easy Clarisse"

I spun around and there standing on the roof of the bathroom as if he had always been there was the blonde guy Naruto. He added a burnt orange motorcycle jacket to his outfit since the last time I had saw him. He stood on top of the roof with his hands casually stuck in his pockets.

"Clarisse, go get yourself cleaned up, Friday is capture the flag, this" he said gesturing towards Percy and her drenched self "can wait until then."

Clarisse took several deep breaths, visibly calming her-self down. She inclined her head once towards Naruto, then spun on her heels and marched back towards the cabins.

"Well, it appears so many of you have free time, who would like to join me in the practice ring?" Naruto offered with a smile.

My eyes widened when the other campers stampeded out of the immediate area. I turned back to look at the mysterious blonde who seemed to be the unofficial leader of the camp.

"Who is that and why is everyone afraid of him?" I asked Annabeth.

"That was Naruto Namikaze and that wasn't fear it was respect." Annabeth said as she motioned me to follow her. "Naruto arrived here about two years ago, but he's different from the rest of us, he was born in a different world than ours."

"A different world, like in a comic book, did he fall through a worm hole or something?" I asked her. I amazed my-self that I was able to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

"He never said how he got here only Mr. D and Chiron know the specifics. But the world he comes from is very war like, and Naruto has been trained since a very young age to be a warrior a shinobi to be precise."

"You're telling me he's a ninja from a different world." Okay that time the sarcasm was obvious.

Annabeth gave me a look of total exasperation, like she was tired of trying to teach me to tie my shoes. "As I was saying, we don't fear Naruto, we respect him. Because unlike most of us here, he has already been in battle and proved his worth as a warrior and a hero. You can find your way back to cabin 11, when you hear the horn follow your cabin mates to dinner." She said and started walking away.

"Wait!" I half yelled "one more question? Is Naruto claimed?"

"Yes, he's the only person allowed in cabin 1." Annabeth said without turning around.

My eyes widened with that information. _'Zeus…he's the son of the King of the Gods!'_

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XX**

**AN: I know Naruto wasn't featured much in this chapter but that was done on purpose, I want to see what kind of response this test chapter got and that will determine whether or not I continue with it. Also remember, that anyone can pick up where I left off. **


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